The ballroom was quiet when two lofty figures stepped forward.
"Presenting the Sun of Bierze, King Belelot, and the Crown Prince, Piers Belelot."
Many eyes wandered toward Oliver to see his reaction, especially since the Future Royal Consort was supposed to be standing next to the Crown Prince. Yet, Oliver was with his family.
Oliver's face showed no emotions, but his body was tense as he looked at the familiar face. Piers was a handsome man, tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Oliver cringed, thinking how he used to fawn over this man. He now found that trying to love Piers was like loving the ocean—cold, dark, with the threat of pulling you under until you could no longer breathe.
Many celebrated the Belelot's entrance with light applause, but Oliver made no move to join the crowd. Every gesture and smile was superimposed with Piers' sneer. All he could hear was the distant voice sentencing him to death.
Oliver lifted his wine to his lips and took a light sip.
Piers walked down the stairs with a proud look and straight back. When he made eye contact with Oliver, he lifted his chin arrogantly. Oliver refrained from rolling his eyes and chose to take another drink.
Many people lined up to congratulate Piers, but Oliver held back and remained with his family. Usually, he would bypass the line and approach his throne directly. Even his family expected this behavior from him.
"Oli, are you going to give him your congratulations?" His mother asked.
"My turn will come." He said lightly with a slight shake of his head.
At this time, the many people in attendance had noticed the odd behaviors of the Young Lord Oliver, including the Crown Prince. Everyone was used to him bombarding the prince, but this time he was suspiciously distant. Eyes kept searching for him and found him talking happily to his parents.
Oliver looked up at the grandfather clock that stood in the ballroom and released a long breath. It was nearly time.
Piers motioned for the music to stop, and the ballroom became quiet. He looked around the room and pursed his lips. "Lord Oliver Kardos. May you present yourself?"
Oliver's mother looked perplexed, but Olivier only looked at his father. His father's look was complicated because he was concerned for his son while trying to hide the anger boiling inside of him. He also knew what would happen and was upset that Piers did not choose to do this privately.
He gave his father a solemn smile. "Forgive me, father." He said quietly. He knew how much shame this would cause for the Kardos name. Oliver could not hold on to his fiance or the crown. He will become discarded and unwanted, adding another item to the list of wrongs that Oliver has committed.
He turned without receiving a word from his father, and he walked through the crowd until he made his way to the prince.
Once he approached the prince, Oliver lowered himself to a knee and gracefully held a hand over his heart. It was a formal bow of the Kardos family typically seen in Wynter. It wasn't something he had shown before, and pride flashed through Aaron's eyes.
"I offer my congratulations for your coming-of-age, Your Royal Highness," Oliver said calmly.
Not many understood the implications of his words or actions. Not only had he refused to bow in the manner of Bierze, but his words had distanced him from the Crown Prince. He had usually called him by name, but now he addressed him by his formal title.
However, Prince Piers did not understand this unusual behavior and continued. "I respect your family and name; however, it is my duty to ensure that the person who stands next to me is worthy of the weight of the throne. Therefore, I am declaring the dissolution of our engagement. You are no longer my fiance."
Piers' words did not allow room for a retort. Gasps were heard throughout the ballroom, and Oliver caught his parents fuming with anger. The prince's words were distasteful and rude, basically stating that he respected the Kardoses but not Oliver. He did not find him worthy of respect or the throne.
However, Oliver had heard this speech before, and his heart was prepared for it. He kept his head bowed and his voice steady. "We have accompanied each other for ten years as betrothed, so thank you for always keeping my family in your heart."
Piers was surprised by this reaction, not expecting a calm response. Oliver flustered him, so he could only reach out a hand to help Oliver up. However, Oliver did not take it. Instead, he reached inside his pocket and took out the ring that Piers presented him many years ago.
Oliver placed the ring in Piers' extended hand. "I will return what was once given."
Piers froze as he looked at the ring. This was not going as he anticipated. His eyes scanned the ballroom and found many people with the same reaction.
However, many eyes were softening as they looked upon the pitiful back of the abandoned Oliver, especially the military men who were just conversing with him. They realized they liked the young man and were starting to accept that he would sit on the throne. However, that was stripped away from him without warning, yet Oliver handled it gracefully.
Piers believed it was another ploy from Oliver to win him back.
He snatched his hand back. "As long as you understand. From now on, we have no relationship."
Oliver stood up gracefully. "I understand." He noticed the strange gazes and sighed inwardly. "I seemed to have dampened the mood of your celebration. I will excuse myself first so you can continue your festivities."
He gave a short bow to the prince and walked away, leaving the ballroom and the baffled crowd behind him.
Conrad quickly reached him and grabbed his arm. "Oli? Are you ok?"
Oliver smiled. "I am. But it would be best if you stayed here with the others. Keep father calm, and I'll head home first."
Conrad hesitated but eventually nodded and let him go.
Oliver walked out of the palace; his back seemed forlorn yet proud. He was publicly rejected and humiliated—a long-term engagement was broken in front of the high society. However, Oliver just accepted it with a smile.
He differed from public perception; many found their hearts aching for him.
Oliver didn't care about the others' opinions. He wanted a new life, and it started with letting go of the bastard who had destroyed him before. The choice was easy.
He made his way through the gardens. He hadn't been in this area for a couple of decades, but his feet still knew the way. He found himself at his favorite fountain, hidden amid the tall roses.
The fountain was a plain stone circular, but a meticulously carved angel stood in the center. The angel looked down affectionately with her wings slightly extended, making her look ethereal and forgiving.
He sat down on the fountain's edge with her looking down at him. He slipped off his jacket and skimmed his fingers through the cold and clear water. He felt the water chill his hands, making him chuckle. He succeeded in altering a pivotal point in his history.
Sometimes he had to remind himself that he wasn't dreaming. The Anima Wish still didn't seem real.
He lay down on the fountain's edge with a long breath and looked up toward the heavens. The sky was calm and void of the smoke and screams that had plagued him for years. It gave him the peace he needed to settle his emotions. He had finally confronted the man who had taken everything away from him. He wanted to kill him when he first saw him but held back.
He was a twenty-year-old man, but inwardly, he was in his fifties. He was too old to play these tiresome games with Piers and Ewen. He would strike when it was appropriate.
He chuckled at himself. It was satisfying to see that traitorous bastard look so bewildered at him. He used to think that Piers was a wise and cunning man, but he was just a child. The Oliver he was now was battle-honed. He had seen the worst of humanity and lovers. But now, he had the chance to value his home and cherish his loved ones.
Stuck in nostalgia, he started to hum a song from the battlefield that expressed a deep longing for home. The hum broke out to a quiet song. His voice reflected a young man, but it was heavily laden with emotion that he could only comprehend.
He turned his gaze to the angel in the middle of the fountain and faltered. A figure in all black was standing on the other side. He was tall—taller than Oliver. A black mask covered his entire face, including his eyes. Oliver assumed it was made of a unique material that allowed him to see through it. Although this person seemed menacing, Oliver felt no fears or hesitations toward him.
"Such a mournful song on a happy occasion?" The man said from the other side of the fountain. His voice was deep, reminiscent of a growl, and Oliver felt that it was slightly animalistic. Yet, at the same time, Oliver found it hypnotically alluring.
Oliver was puzzled over the unfamiliar with the voice. He couldn't place it even in his old life.
"Is it truly mournful?" Oliver asked the stranger hiding on the other side.
A husky chuckle greeted him. "Isn't it a song of war?"
Oliver quieted for a moment. When he marched in the wars, he never felt sorrow when singing it. "Yes and no... It's a song reminding the toiling soldier that there is a home behind him. It's a sliver of hope in a bloody world."
"You're strangely optimistic."
Oliver shook his head. "I'm not. I just have a different interpretation of this song. I'm assuming you're not optimistic either."
Another laugh sounded, making Oliver's heart race. "I think I'm more of a realist," the man said.
Oliver smiled a little. "And what brings a realist out here to the royal gardens and hidden away from view?"
"I'm not supposed to be here." He said with amusement laced in his voice.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned and attack you?"
"Do you want to fight me?"
Oliver shook his head. "Not at this time. I find your company much more pleasing than those parasites in the palace."
"But I could be a spy. What then?"
Oliver laughed happily. "If you were a spy, you are in the wrong place. I believe you should look inside the third floor of the palace—on the north side of the residential wing. Behind the large painting of the Belelot ancestors, you will find the secret meeting room. You should have more luck there."
There was a heavy silence. "You surprise me." The man said quietly. He walked over with silent steps, and he sat down next to Oliver.
"I seem to be doing that a lot lately," Oliver said as he smiled at the mysterious figure.
The man nodded towards the palace. "Are you upset about what happened?"
Oliver sighed. "So you know as well." He flashed a mischievous smile. "Did you follow me?"
The man was still for a moment but then nodded.
Oliver shamelessly leaned against the man's shoulder. "So you're here to comfort the Duke's son who was just dumped?"
"You don't seem to need comfort." He said stiffly. He didn't seem accustomed to someone touching him, yet he didn't push him away. "Shouldn't you be a little more... wary of me?"
"I tread water in a pool of malice... but I don't sense that in you. It's refreshing, to say the least, so I will take advantage of this moment." Oliver said with a smile. "Your soundless steps, cloak, and mask will not deter me."
He glanced up and looked at the solid black mask. His hand reached up, and his thumb brushed over it where the man's lips were hidden. The mask was cool to the touch as if it was made of jade. He found the mask almost as intriguing as the man who hid behind it.
Oliver seemed to notice his impertinent actions and hastily pulled his arm down with a sheepish smile. He went back to leaning against the man. "To answer your original question, no. I'm not upset."
"I have heard you loved him dearly."
Oliver grimaced a little. "Love? No. I never felt love for him. I was merely trying to kindle the flames of a dead ember... But you don't need to hear the grievances of a stranger."
The man sighed. "I don't mind."
Oliver closed his eyes briefly, absorbing the feeling the man inspired. "It feels like I am confessing at a church. Are you perhaps a priest?"
"I'm far too corrupted to be something as gentle as a priest." The man said before he moved from the fountain's edge and kneeled in front of Oliver.
He then raised his hand and covered Oliver's eyes. "But if you so desire, confess your sins to me."
The man's voice was so close, and he couldn't help but shiver. He was an old ghost at heart, but something about this person made him feel like a young man again.
"There's not enough time in the night to confess all my sins." Oliver's voice was a little hoarse.
A slight hum vibrated through the air. "Then shall I steal you for several nights?"
Oliver licked his lips, feeling them becoming drier with each passing moment. "You're making dangerous propositions. Perhaps I should have been wary of you."
Oliver told himself he should pull away. He knew nothing about this man, but his body seemed content with his touch. It was like he could finally drink a mouthful of water after weeks of going without a drop.
Oliver heard the man's laugh rumbling in his chest. "Too late now."
"Villain," Oliver whispered.
This warranted another laugh. The man inched closer. "Come now, if you cannot reveal your sins, tell me about your grievances."
His voice was like a siren, drawing Oliver in.